


Gestures

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, mythea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the smallest gestures speak the loudest</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of little ficlets not necessarily related

He was the Ice-Man; she had heard tales of his masterful manipulations and cold-hearted calculations long before she ever took the position as his Personal Assistant, but that did not stop her in the least. If one could make it at least a year under his direct employment, than one would have the backing to fulfill any career aspirations one desired. So that is what found her sitting at her desk at God knows what hour, translating documents for the meeting with the Chinese government official’s tomorrow morning.

Mr. Holmes was in his office going over last minute reports, because really where else would he be. If she had not already seen his home, she would swear that the man lived in one or all of his many offices around London.

Brain slightly foggy from sleep deprivation and eyes blurry from squinting at the computer screen for far too long, it took Anthea’s brain a few minutes to catch up with what had just happened. He had smiled at her; an honest, open smile that let her see a glimpse of the man underneath. It was not like she had not see him smile before, but this one was different; it wasn’t a forced, tight smile that he used when trying to placate dignitaries or the devious or the sly smile that showed itself when a particularly difficult plan against a foe worked out.

It happened as if it occurred everyday; as if this was a common occurrence around her. She thought of the smile; his lips were ever so slightly quirked up at the ends, but it was his eyes that had drawn her in and made her heart beat faster. His eyes had softened, showing a rare tenderness and hints of promise. In those fleeting moments he had opened himself to her; showed his vulnerability- in those fleeting moments he had opened himself to her.

Try as she might she could not remember what had happened to have caused him to smile, for she would endeavour to recreate that moment. Glancing at him unsuspectingly from under long lashes, she took in his serious profile. He had chosen her; he had come to her and opened himself to her. This was just one moment. Remembering the way his eyes had danced when he had smiled at her; she knew there would be a next time.

From all of the horror stories that she had heard, no one had prepared her for Mycroft Holmes the person, and not the machine. No one warned her about his fierce protectiveness for what he considered to be his; his gentlemanly demeanour; his quiet power and strength; or the way he filled out a 3 piece suite quite nicely.

With a tired sigh and a slight shake of her head to clear these dangerous thoughts, Anthea set about finishing the last of her work, eager to go home for the night ... or wondering if like her boss she could set up house and home at the office too.

Becoming infatuated with one’s boss was never a good thing; falling in love with him is just plain disastrous. However that is an issue for another day, today knowing that he chose to share even the briefest glimpses of the true Mycroft Holmes with her was enough to keep her going... for now. 


	2. Always You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always you
> 
> (not related to the first chapter)

His cloths were torn and singed, and he was thanking his lucky stars that Anthea had badgered him into changing the fabric of his suits into the lightweight, flame retardant stuff. His lungs burned from running; dark spots was starting to creep into his vision; his arm throbbed with white hot pain where he felt his blood soaking through his jacket from the bullet that he was sure was still lodged there; and his ears rang with high pitch wail, making all other sounds foggy and distant.

With a slight turn of his head, he glanced back to see Anthea quick on his heels. She was not fairing much better than he; there was a large gash above her right eye, blood running down her cheek and matting her hair to the side of her face; dark smudges of soot and dirt clouding her pale skin.

Just an hour previous had seen the pair situated in a lavish meeting room trying to mediate a tentative truce between North Korea on behalf of the Western world, again trying to avoid world war three. When suddenly there was a loud crash as something came sailing through one of the window, shards of glass flying everywhere. With his keen observational skills heightened at the threat of danger, he was able to discern the metallic thud that pinged off of the tiled floors. With just seconds to react, he quickly kicked out Anthea’s chair, reaching out an arm to rip her out of the chair and haul her to the ground under the table, using his body to cover hers as a wave of burning heat ripped through the room from the bomb blast.

With ringing ears (ear drums having definitely been burst), Anthea frantically pushed her boss from atop of her, daft fingers quickly flying to his pulse point at his neck. Letting out a relieved breath at finding a strong, steady beat, she slightly slapped at his cheeks to try and bring him back to wakefulness. Eyes still closed, he came to instant alertness (it is always best to try and gain the element of surprise when in a dangerous situation), his hand shooting out and gripped the offending hand near his face in a bruising hold. Upon opening his eyes, he needed to blink a few times to clear the fog and spots that blurred his vision. Steely blue/gray meet determined brown, and with a slight nod, as if to reassure the other that they were not dead yet, the pair quickly rose to their feet and made a dash out of the room, setting their contingency escape plan into action just as the armed anarchist burst into the room amidst shouting and gun fire.

Being shot and shot at, downing at least 5 of their attackers, 1 more explosion, and jumping out of a 2 story window later, saw the pair now running down the cobbled streets of Russia trying to get to their emergency randevú point.

This (meeting) is a bad idea she had said. Practically walking into a trap she had said. Almost certain death she had said. He had agreed with her whole heartedly, but what else could they have done. If they had sent the American or French delegates, world war 3 would have been imminent before introductions were even finished. No, he was their best option, and for Queen and country he would go.

The sound of their pursuers was getting closer, stray bullets pinging off of brick and shattering through glass. Glancing back once again to judge their distance (the muffling of his hearing having dramatically reduced his ability to deduce where their attackers were from their sounds), his heart froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins at the sight of Anthea stumbling and crashing hard to the floor, a sickening thud of her head hitting the stone.

Stopping abruptly, he turned and raced to her side and scooped her up into his arms. Biting his lip until he could taste the coppery taste of his own blood in his mouth, he forced his mind to focus on the women in his arms and their survival, and not on the crippling pain that radiated through him from his arm.

Surveying their rapidly approaching assailants once more he judged that they had roughly 3 minutes and 10 seconds to put a considerable distance between them, something that was not going to happen with him having to carry the unconscious Anthea. Deciding that it was their best option for survival, he took a running leap and jumped off the bridge, plunging them into the fast moving icy water below. The fast moving current swept their pair downstream several kilometers, where their extraction team was able to easily locate them (thanks to the GPS tracking devices in their rings) and bring them back to Britain.

\------------------------------------------------------

Gently, he brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen into her face; his hand moving down to caress and cup her cheek in his larger hand, the feel of her cool skin beneath his warmer one like a balm.

“It has always been you my dear. No one could make me lose my calm and control like you; only you could make my heart beat faster, make my smile reach my eyes, make my mind quiet as it focuses solely on you.”

Running his hand down her arm, he interlaced his fingers with hers.

“I notice everything about you my dear, how could I not; you are extraordinary, you are vibrant, you are the mystery that I want to spend a life time unraveling, but more than that you are you. And that is what I love about you; that you have not lost your spirit, the real you that this job tries to steal away.”

“I know in our line of work that having tells could mean life or death. But when I see the sparkle in your eyes, the flush of your cheeks, the crease in your brow, the purse of your lips, or hear the catch of in your breath, I cannot help but feel a selfish kinds of pleasure at seeing peeks of the things that make you, you.”

“I love the way you know a smile, a touch, a look can melt the ice around my heart and calm the fury of activity in my mind. I love how you put up with my drama and tantrums.”

Slowly, gently as if any sudden movements would break the calm quiet of the room, he bent his head down and dropped a kiss to her brow, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Caring is not an advantage, but neither is not caring. Come back to me, please try to wake up, and I will endeavour to make you see that it was always you.”

Pulling the blankets up to her chin, he sat in silence just watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, the faint beeping sound of the heart rate monitor a reassuring sound presence that meant that she was not lost to him. It was always the best and worst part of his day; coming home to her like he had always dreamt, but not being able to hear her voice, see her eyes, or feel her touch made him feel so hollow and alone. He had never felt loneliness until she was no longer a constant in his life.

Resting his head on his folded arms, he sent a silent prayer to the God he didn’t think he believed in, to bring her back as he drifted off to sleep, visions of her dancing behind his closed eyes. 


	3. Touch

They sat across from each other not saying a word, him reading over important documents that needed his attention, and her reviewing messages, letters and documents before she would pass it on to him for his approval. The sharing of his office for this kind of work just made sense, and they had just fallen into this kind of routine without even noticing.

The only sounds in the room were the shuffle of papers or the scratch of a pen. The quiet that had settled upon them was comfortable; they did not need words to communicate, a look, a raise of a brow, a quirk of the lips was all they needed to be able to “speak” with each other.

Things had not always been like this she reflected. A few years ago she would never have dared to be this familiar with him. Oh no, before she had come to know him, really know him, as in planning almost every detail of his life, Mycroft Holmes was the Ice Man, the unfeeling machine. When it came to that Mycroft Holmes, one never knew what to believe as truth or to dismiss as fiction. He was a man that cloaked himself in mystery and prided himself on not making close attachments that would prove to be a vulnerability.

However, even to this day, knowing him this long, there were a few absolute truths about him that even Anthea did not question; 1) unless you wanted to die a rather painful and gruesome death one did not mess with his baby brother Sherlock Holmes; 2) he enough power and influence to rival the Queen; and 3) he did not touch or be touched by others willingly.

Refocusing on her work in front of her, she could not help but take pause, rubbing at her tired eyes to try and bring the letters and words back into focus. It was way past decent working hours, but that was to be expected when you worked with a Holmes’.

She could feel his eyes on her, following her every move; reading the tension in her shoulders, her level of fatigue by the way her eyes watered and blinked, and her intake of breath when she was trying to hide a yawn.

With a slight quirk of his lips, he put down his pen, “I appreciate your dedication my dear, but I think that it is time that you called it an evening and went home to rest” he told her in a tone that brooked no argument.

Her head whipped up at the sound of his voice, slightly startled by the broken silence. “I am fine sir...” the rest of her sentence was cut off by a rather large yawn that she had no hope of trying to hide.

He raised his eye brow at her, conveying his skepticism.

With a blush staining her cheeks from being caught out she tried again, “I just need to finish reviewing a few more documents and send a couple of e-mails, it shouldn’t be too much longer”

“If you don’t finish right this night will anyone die? Will a war be started? Will the British Empire or any of its allies come crashing down?” He asked her. If it had been anyone else asking those questions it would have been worthy of an eye roll in exasperation, but coming from him, he really did mean it.

“Well no” she answered.

“Then it can wait for tomorrow” he continued.

Standing up from his desk, he rounded the corner to stand in front of her. Without a word he lightly touched her shoulder, as if using physical touch would halt her movements and convince her to call it a night.

At the feel of the slight pressure from his touch, her head turned and her eyes landed on the hand that had touched her shoulder. In all of the years that she had been working with him, she could not remember a time that he had went out of his way to physically touch someone, including her. Sure she had seen him shake hands with people and felt his hand brush hers when she was handing him things, but all of those times it was because he had to. However, just now was not out of necessity but rather because he was offering something to her.

His touch had been casual, light, unassuming to most, but yet she knew, it carried with it a deeper meaning. To her his touch spoke of respect, care, and companionship.

Looking up to meet his eyes, she saw something in his eyes that was different when he looked at her, something that wasn’t there before. His touch was more than just a simple touch to her shoulder, it something changing between them.

With a silent nod of her head, she gathered up her things and went to the door with him following in her wake. Opening the door, he held it for her. Turing to him one last time before she left, a hushed whisper fell from her lips “Good night ... Mycroft.” Without waiting for an answer she turned and walked down the corridor to her office.

Closing the door behind her, he couldn’t help but pause, “Good night Anthea” he whispered to the now empty room, a smile tugging at his lips at her name.  


	4. Scars

To everyone else her beauty was the first thing they noticed, but to him it was the scars and marks on her body that captivated him. They tell a story of a woman that is brave; that has risen above and conquered; that is loyal and selfless.  
  
The first time he saw her scars he worshiped them; pressed healing kisses to them; tracing their shape and committing them to memory with his tongue. Hers are from missions gone wrong; bullets taken; lessons learned.

To everyone else he is the Ice Man; unshakable; unfeeling, unbreakable. The first thing they notice about his is his smooth exterior where words roll off and only calm calculation shines through. But to her it was the depth in him that captivates her; the length and depth of his caring that inform his actions and decisions. It tells of a man who puts family, Queen, and country before himself; it speaks of a man who is selfless when it comes to the greater good, often being the one who will sacrifice bits of himself when no one else would.

The first time she notices, he is stood in the shower that has long since gone cold. She steps into the shower with him and holds him as his tears mingle with the falling water. He may seem infallible but he is not, he scars just like everyone else.  
  
Not all scares are physical, some are mental but they all shape us and stay with us.


	5. Four Inch Heels

Four Inch Heels

The first thing that he notices about her was not her beauty, her impeccable sense of dress that accentuated the soft, delicate curves and contours of her body, or the way her smile reached her eyes and made them sparkle, but that doesn't mean that he didn't notice those things, he was a man after all.

He hears her before he sees her, the click, click, click, staccato of her four inch heels across the marble tiles reverberates down the short hallway to be heard though his open office door. He loves her in heels; the way it emphasizes the muscles in her calves and makes her legs go on forever.

There is just something about the way that she wears heels, that make makes the breath catch in his throat, and make his eyes track and follow her every move.

Every step that she takes makes the muscles in her calves ripple and flex; giving him only but a glimpse of the hidden strength that she hides beneath sheer black stockings and black pencil skirts.

She walks into his office, a tray with a steaming cup of tea and the most recent statics on the South Korean elections balance precariously in her hands. He can feel the grin that threatens to steal across his lips, and he need to purse his lips tighter together least it appears.

He can hear it in her steps before he sees it, the subtle change in the clicking of her heels, the way she adds an extra swing and roll of her hips just for him. His eyes first lock onto her polished black heels and slowly rises up her calves, then thighs, to pause and lock onto her swing hips, before his eyes continue their journey up her body to meet her eyes. This all happens within a few fractions of a second and he really hopes that she does not notice.

How would she react, he thinks; would she be disgusted, embarrassed, angry, dare he hope that she would actually welcome his attentions.

Grey eyes meet brown, and he gives her a curt nod of thanks without a word. She returns a small smile and nod of her own and turns around and walks out of the room, the click, click, click, of her heels echoing after her. As she leaves, he does not see the slight blush that stains her cheeks or the smile that lights her eyes at the knowledge that she knows that he is checking her out, and liking what he sees.


	6. Kiss and Make It Feel Better

To most they would just appear as boss and personal assistant; purely just a working relationship, always professional and by the book. That is not to say that they were in any sort of romantic relationship, as much as she wished it were true. However, they were more than just boss and employee; they were so much more. He was her entire world and vice versa.

With a position of such importance (not that anyone would know that of course), there wasn’t much time to have a social life outside of work and so Anthea had become his everything; his companion; his sounding board; he would even go so far as to call her his friend, his best and only friend at that.

Working for Mr. Holmes was not easy feat; the man was demanding; had unusual and quirky habits; the most difficult and often childish little brother, whom she might add was sometimes her “responsibility” to mind, and he sometimes had such an air of superiority that it made protecting him difficult because he would think it unfathomable that a bullet or some other death causing instrument would dare touch his person. However exhausting the man might be, he was all hers. Not in the romantic sense, no, but one could hope.

Having known each other for so long and working in close proximity their developed friendship had naturally moved their relationship to a point in which they were not afraid to tell each other exactly what they thought, however in private mind you, it wouldn’t do to have others see them being so familiar with each other.

They had fought the night before he left to retrieve Sherlock. She thought that he was taking unnecessary risks going in alone without any immediate support, and he thought that she was being overly worried mother-hen.

As they were driving towards the airport, the mood in the car was tense; neither spoke unless absolutely necessary, and when words were spoken they were stilted and clipped. 

Arriving at the airport, his hand is on the door handle about to get out of the car when her words stop him.

“I should be going with you” she murmured lowly.

Thoughts of its ‘too dangerous’, ‘I would be too worried about you to concentrate’, and ‘what would I do if I lost you’ all flashed through his mind, just on the tip of his tongue, but he dare not speak the words least he want a black eye and a scolding on she was just as good as he was, if not better in the area of field work.  

“You and I both know without me here, you are more valuable here” he said with a put upon sigh.

A silence settled upon them, but silently acknowledging the truth of the others words; she knew that next to him she paled in comparison but was the best that could hold up Britain in his absence; and he knew that alone he could have a decently high rate of success when it came to field work, but with her he was unstoppable.

Shouldering his bag he made to get out of the car, when her words stopped him once again.

“Just come home” she said barely above a whisper.

Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he gave her a curt nod and exited the car.

\-----------------------------------------

It had been 2 weeks but both the Holmes brothers were now safely (more or less) back on British soil.

With his Belstaf coat in her hands she enters the office, not yet willing to meet the eyes of her boss, not with Sherlock still in the room.

Shrugging on his coat, he gave a dramatic twirl before exiting the room.

As soon as the door slammed shut with a resounding crash behind Sherlock, always the drama queen and needing to cause a scene, she narrowed her eyes scrutinized the form of her boss; her eyes cataloging every twitch, hesitation, and laboured movement of the man.

He raised an eyebrow at the intensity of her stare and her silent appraisal of his person. He moved over to his desk chair to sit down gingerly; his knee ached from the constant pressure of standing on it for so long during his verbal sparing match with Sherlock.

She did not answer his unspoken question, instead her frown deepened as she saw his slow and deliberate movements.

As the silence stretched on, her eyes never leaving him, he started to fidget in his chair. Anthea, the only person besides his mother that could make him do so.

Looking up at her, he gave her an exasperated huff “What prey tell is so fascinating about my person that you are practically undressing me with your eyes?” he asked her with a little grin on his lips, trying to diffuse the tension that suffused the room.

Normally this would draw an eye roll out of her, but this time he was only met with stony silence.

"Let me see" she said tersely.

He knew out of everyone she was the one person that he could never fool.   
        
"Anthea" he sighed "Not this again.  Everything went fine; I came back in one piece didn't I. Can we just let this go, I'm sure that there are in exorbitant amounts of work to be done that amassed in my absence."

He started to shuffle some of the paper around on his desk, trying to distract himself from the woman in front of him.

"Let me see" she ground out between clenched teeth.               

"It's nothing" he told her with an exasperated sigh at last, not being able to her silence and look that made him feel like some naughty schoolboy.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her frown deepening and her shoulders set and determined.

Tossing his pen down on his desk, he threw his hands up in defeat and pushed himself away from his desk. Rolling up his pant leg to his knee he revealed to her the blue/purple bruise that spread across his entire kneecap and down the side of his calf.

Straightening up his eyes met hers again and he couldn’t help but see the concern swirling in their depths, along with flecks of anger, aimed at him or the ones that did that to him, he did not know.

“Are you happy? Can we get on with things now?” he asked her, slightly embarrassed admitting to his flaws.

“No. Now I’d like to see the rest” she said.

 “We’re in the office Anthea, it would be highly inappropriate” her eyes narrowed further.

“Anthea, please, be reasonable” he was met with her stoic stare.

“Anthea” he all but wined.

 “Well at least make sure the door is locked” he grumbled as he stood up and took of his suit jacket and started to loosen his tie.

Walking over to the door she turned the lock with an audible click.  

Waist cost now discarded, he started to slowly slide the buttons through his crisp white shirt.

“It’s really not as bad as it looks” he said, as if trying to convince himself of the contrary to the ache in his muscles every time he so much as moved.

His shirt hung open and loose around his torso, his pale chest covered with huge, round blossomed bruises; the shape bullets would leave when shot into a Kevlar vest.

She let out a soft gasp at the site of him. Moving towards him as if in a trance, she stepped up to him, her gentle, cool hands sliding beneath the material of his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders. He let out a slight hiss as her cool hands came into contact with his heated, battered flesh.  

“Does it hurt terribly?” she asked in a choked whisper as she traced the marks with his fingers lightly, as if mapping and memorizing his every hurt.

“No” came his quick reply, too quick.

Nodding her head as if she believed him, she retorted, “And the truthful answer would be...”

He gave a slight chuckle at her words that was abruptly halted by a groan that slipped past his lips, the jarring of his frame from his laugh causing pain the radiate through his body.  

Shaking her head “You stupid...daft... frustrating... man “ she said as she bent her head down and brushed her lips against each spot on his chest in between her words.

Raising brows raised in intrigued curiosity “Are you going to kiss them all to make them feel better” he said in a teasing voice, his dilated eyes following her every movement.

Glancing up at him, her eyes tender and smoldering, she nodded her head and in a voice thick with desire she replied “Even if it takes me all night”


	7. Out Loud or Not

Even if you don't say the words out loud I know you love me.  
  
At first I didn't know why you hired me. I wasn't one of those pieces of arm candy that the other politicians insisted on flaunting; I was just this side of plain and unassuming. But I came to realize that you hired me because I was just like you in some respects; we were different, we saw the world differently from everyone else and that has always put us on the outside looking in.  
  
But that's just it, that's the trouble with being the only two alike in this little world of ours, that no one else but the other could possible fill that void in our hearts. I notice you just as much as you notice me.  
  
You say that it is a mistake to love you; that you are incapable of loving another, but what you cannot say, your body and actions say for you.  
  
You say that it is a mistake to love you and yet you do everything in your power, even unconsciously, that makes it so that I cannot help but love you.

For a man who shies away from physical contact you make an effort for me; the way you stand just close enough that I can feel the reassuring heat roll off your body, but gives me enough space so that I can still breathe. The way you encourage my independence and self reliance, but at the same time you make it so that I never feel alone.

There is never a moment when we are together that I don’t feel your prescience surrounding me, enfolding me in this love that you say that you don’t know how to give. I feel it in the way that your eyes linger a little too long when you don’t think that I am paying attention, but the jokes on you, I am always paying attention when it comes to you. With my head bent and my eyes are devouring information in the pile of files in my hands, I feel the way your eyes run over me, caressing every inch of me. I know that if I looked up I would see a tenderness and longing in your eyes that you hide from the world, from everyone but me.

There is a knock at the door and in that split second I watch as you tuck your passion behind your rigidly controlled facade, your mouth drawn in a severe line and your eyes flat, a face that you have perfected over the years of “not caring”. You clear your throat and call for them to entre, and nothing looks out of place; we are just boss and subordinate once again.

We’re not always at the office, contrary to popular belief. An office that you keep for me in your home has become my home away from home as of late, and the spare room that we have dubbed as mine is becoming more familiar then that of my own flat. We’re usually pouring over reports, but sometimes, sometimes when we start to lose ourselves and our identity to Queen and country, we take a break to reaffirm ourselves and lend the other a strength and comfort that only the other can give.

We’re in your home office, the lights are off but the glow of the fire in the hearth is enough to warm and illuminate us. You are sitting on the love seat, one leg tucked under the other (not something that you would usually let people see, but then again I am not people), with piles of papers and files surrounding you, just staring into the fire a million miles away. I am sitting on the floor just by your knee, my back resting against the front of the sofa, and my own pile of papers and files that rival yours. My head is tipped back resting on the sofa just beside your knee, not quite touch but it might as well be. My tired eyes are closed and I am concentrating on evening my breathing to relax my body and let the stress and tension melt away.

 We stay that way for some times, both lost in our own thoughts and silence but never alone. I feel you shift in your seat and crack one eye open, always ready to anticipate your every need, but the look on your face is peaceful and contemplative, so I just watch you.

Your hands once steepled with your chin resting atop now falls to your side. You are staring down at me, your gaze unwavering and intense, and yet I do not feel uncomfortable or awkward, rather I feel a warmth spreading through me. My stomach clenches in anticipation when I see your mind waging war with your heart shining through your eyes. At long last I feel your fingers whisper along the threads of my hair tentatively, gently brushing the strands and rubbing them between your fingers feelings its flow and softness. My soft sigh punctuates the quite of the room and I relax further back into the sofa my head brushing the side of your knee as you become bolder as your card your hand through my hair.

You see, I know you, and I know that even if you don't say the words out loud I know you love me.

The quite of the room, the warmth of the fire, and your gentle hand in my hair lulls me into a state of not quite wakefulness and not quite slumber; I’m drifting on a sea of clam that only you can bring.

I’m almost asleep when your quiet words break through my fog, “I think I may be in love with you”

Your hand slides from my hair to caress my cheek and I cannot help but lean into your touch. Eyes still closed, a soft smile touches my lips as I reply, “I know.”


	8. Miss You Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just fluff

They had just gotten back from an important trade mission in Japan that had taken the better part of 3 weeks; his internal clock was horribly messed up and all he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and not come out for a week. However, he could not deny that it felt good to be home, to be in London once again.

With a soft jolt the car came to a stop outside a rather nondescript set of town houses. With a mumble that could have either been a parting or a threat to never keep her away from home this long, Anthea gave him a flippant wave over her should as she got out of the car, too tired to even keep up the pretenses of being professional.

With a thud the door closed and the car gave a slight lurch as it drove off in the direction of his own home. Closing his eyes, he let the silence of the back seat of the car surround him; he was finally able to relax in the solitude of the empty back seat of the car. Relaxing his ever present ridged posture, Mycroft practically melted into the soft leather seats. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, he tipped his head back to rest on the back of the seat, trying to relax and maybe catch a few moments of rest before he got home and was more than likely faced with more work than he would like to admit.

Shifting in his seat, he let out a defeated sigh, something did not feel right; there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that just would not let him be at ease. Maybe it was just because he was still in the car and not at home; that he was still technically in public, that his mind would not allow him to drop his facade.

He tried to bring up the comforts of home in his minds eye, maybe envisioning it would help calm his overactive mind and body; the rich dark, earth tones, the cream coloured plush carpets, the knickknacks and bobbles that dotted the shelves, the colourful throw pillows and cushions, the smell of vanilla and almond that hung in the air. With a start he realized that his flat was just that, it was just a flat, it didn’t feel like home anymore; the home he envisioned was not his, it was hers. Somewhere along the road it had stopped being home, and now her place was now home to him.

Tapping on the glass partition, he told his driver turn the car back around. With the thought of going to her place in his mind, he was relaxed enough the quiet his mind and lull himself into a state of semi rest, however there was a nervous, but happy feeling knotted in his stomach that he knew would only be assuaged when he was able to hold her in his arms, and only then would he be allowed to rest.

Silently, he let himself into her flat; even if he didn’t have a key (for emergencies mind you), it would have been no trouble to deduce the combination lock on her door. All the lights are off, and it looks as if she didn’t even bother to turn them on as she navigated her way through the house, dropping bits of clothing along the way as she made her way to her room, so that by time she reached her bed all she had to do was collapse upon it.

With a soft smile playing on his lips, he trailed in her wake picking up her purse and setting it on the hall table, finding both of her shoes and putting them side by side against the wall, and picking up each of article of clothing she dropped and putting it neatly in a pile on the sofa. He was never one to leave a mess and sometimes his compulsions for order drove her up the wall.

With that all in order, he took to the stairs; his long legs easily managing to take them two at a time. He slowed to a stop when he came to her slightly ajar bedroom door, the sound of her soft, even breathing reaching his ears.

He had only left her twenty minutes ago, and already she was fast asleep; he was always amazed at her ability to fall asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Pushing the door open slowly, he cringed as is creaked loudly, fearful that he has disturbed the sleeping occupant of the room. Chancing a glance at her, he was relieved to note that she was still fast asleep. Note to self, fix that, he thought to himself.

He makes his way into the darkened room, ability to avoid all obstacles littering the floor, of which there are many, born out of practice, and locates the end of the bed in which he shrugs out of his jacket and shirt and hangs them off the end of the bed, his trousers soon following.

As carefully as possible, he lifts the covers and ever so solely climbs in beside her. The sudden dip of the bed has her rolling over towards him, snuggling into his side; her face buried in the crook of his arm. He slips further down the bed and settles his arms around her; cradling her.

Unconsciously, her arms move around his waist, hugging him to her, and her head settles on his shoulder.

Turing his head, he buries his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent, letting it surround him; letting her familiarity calm and relax him. He sees her every day without fail; spends exorbitant amounts of time working with her, you would think that he would be more than happy to have time away from her, and yet just the thought of not being with her was enough to set him on edge.

“Took you long enough”, came her quiet, sleep slurred voice.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he whispers his reply, “I missed you too.”


	9. One of Those Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lol pure crack fic with fluffy sweetness

Mycroft loved his job, he really did. But some days the call of his bed and its soft, warm sheets was just too much, even for someone as disciplined and controlled as him. Today, just happened to be one of those days. Glancing at the bedside clock, he took note of the time and decided to ignore it for once. Pulling the covers over his head, muffling the sounds of morning and effectively blocking out any light; he turned over, burying his face deeper into his pillow and cocooning himself between his soft mattress and feather down blanket. The quiet and warmth soon lulled him back into a peaceful sleep.

The morning dawned grey and cold; the dark clouds hanging over the city threatening rain, and the howl of the wind promising pink wind bitten nose and cheeks. Anthea flipped up the collar of her coat and tugged her scarf more securely around her neck before she got out of the car and strode up the walk to her employers flat.

Glancing up at the CCTV camera above the door, she flashed it a smile and her customary good morning wave before she proceeded to type in the 16 digit long code that would grant her access to one of the most secure homes in all of the United Kingdom.

Entering the house she, she slid out of her 4 inch heels and lined them neatly against the way by the door, and hung her coat and scarf on the empty peg beside his coat.

Padding further into the flat, her Blackberry securely in her hand, her eyes idly scanned through the itinerary for the day, when she suddenly noticed that sometime felt off. Pausing, she stretched her senses out and tried to focus on what felt different about today.

It was the silence. The house was eerily quiet. Usually when she arrived at his flat in the morning he would have already been up for hours; she would hear him moving about, be it making tea or in the study going over briefing notes and case files. But not this morning; this morning there was a stillness, a quiet that had settled over the house.

Curiously, she let her keen eyes sweep around the house, paying special attention to note if anything seemed out of place or askew. Knowing her boss the way she did, she knew that if there was trouble, it would be through the subtleness of a skewed painting on the wall or a pen on the staircase in which he would alert her. However, her initial sweep of the home brought up nothing out of the ordinary.

Her brows frowned in confusion, she checked her phone to see if she had somehow missed a message from him saying he had gone into the office earlier, but found nothing. Pocketing her phone, she cautiously crept into the kitchen, only to find nothing; not even discarded dishes in the skink.

Recalling their days schedule, she could not come up with anything that would be too distracting to have needed his attention so drastically that he would have skipped his morning dose of caffeine, she went to the study, only to find it too empty. She absently noted the neat row of pens, and carefully nudged one out of alignment; it would drive him crazy she thought with a small, devious smirk on her lips.

The smile fell from her lips as once again the thought of the absent man nagged at her mind; she would check one more spot before she would be worried enough to call in the cavalry and pretty much lock down the whole of the United Kingdom and a few other countries of interest.

Climbing the stairs cautiously, she was careful to tread quietly on the carpeted stairs, just in case something untoward was happening, this would give her the advantage. When she reached the top of the landing, she paused and stretched her sense out, her mind and body alert to anything out of the ordinary. When the silence still rang out loudly in her ears, she continued on, pushing open the door to his room slowly.

As the door swung open, she swept her eyes quickly through the room, not expecting to find anything. As she was about to turn from the room to go back downstairs to rouse the troops, something caught her attention.

There in the middle of his large bed, was a rather large lump. Rather, it looked to be a rather large Mycroft looking lump. With her brows raised in surprised confusion, she called out to him softly, only to be met with more silence.

Padding over to the lump, she perched herself on the side of the bed, “Sir? ... Sir? ... Mycroft?” she called out to him, reaching a hand out and resting it on what she assumed was his back.

There was a soft grunt from the lump, and she watched in slightly shocked and bemused amazement as it burrowed further into the mattress and the covers were pulled more tightly around his frame in an attempt to ignore her.

With her brows quirked in bewilderment, she shook his shoulder trying to rouse him, “Um ... Sir? It’s half 8, you are usually up... is everything alright?” she asked curious as to a deviation in is usually rigorous consistency to stick to his habits.

“No, youcan’tmakeme” came his mumbled reply, muffled by the layers of pillows and blankets.

Her hand on his shoulder stilled as she blinked at him, trying to process his words.

“Sir ... Mycroft ... you have to get up” she said with a slight frown after discerning his words.

Struggling within the confines of his blankets, he pushed his head out from under the pillow, and poked his face out from a small part in the blankets; his eyes wide (almost childlike) and so very blue, his nose scrunched up creating a crease between his eyes and on his forehead, “I’m the British Government and I say no, so you can’t make me,” came his indignant reply, his bottom lip jutting out into a full blown pout, right before he hauled the blankets over his head.

Anthea just sat there, staring not quite believing the turn of events this morning and slightly startled into not knowing how to handle the situation for once in her life.

In one swift movement, he lifted the side of the blanket high into the air, shooting out an arm to wrap around her waist to quickly yank her under the covers, and then proceeded to roll them across the bed back and forth until their bodies were pressed tightly together, both of their arms and legs trapped as their form closely resembled a human burrito.

With a small grunt he landed on his back, his arms around her as he took all of her weight on top of him, their noses practically touching.

Her eyes wide and her mouth falling open in shock, not quite believing what he had just done. She tries to wriggle out, but her arms are pinned between them and he has his arms wrapped around her so she cannot move. She can feel the heat radiating off of him through the thin layers of her cloths, and a flush runs up her chest and infuse her cheeks from his nearness.  

She lets out a frustrated sigh, “Mycroft, what are you doing?”

“I don’t want to go to work today” he huffed with a pout on his lips.

All she could do was roll her eyes at him; she loved working for him, she really did, but sometimes it amazed her that this British Government incarnate could be such a man child at times.

She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes seemed to darken and lighten as he was thinking or the way his hot breath puffed against her cheek and sent a shiver through her body. Noticing her shiver, his eyes met hers and he tightened his arms around her bringing her even tighter against his body.

His eyes meet hers, but can’t help but stray to her lips as he sees her delicate pink tongue flick out to moisten her lips. Combined with the feeling of her full breasts pressed into him, he can’t help but let out a soft groan that vibrates through both their bodies.

Her eyes darken and her pupils dilate as she hears the need and desire in his tone. Her breath is coming in shallow, quick pants that further serve to press her body more tightly into his.

“I think” he says, his voice quiet and strained as they move in sync together, “I may have miscalculated” he finishes as his lips brush ever so softly against hers.

As she feels the touch of his lips, she can’t help but let out a little contented sigh and press her lips more firmly against his.  Their lips slide against each other gently, slowly, unhurriedly.

_Miscalculated my ass_ she thought, _Mycroft Holmes never miscalculates anything_ was her last thoughts before she completely surrendered to him as she felt the flick of his tongue at the seam of her lips asking for more.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room is quiet, save for the sounds of their mingled, harsh breathing. They lay together in a heap of tangled, naked limbs and blankest; hair tangled and tousled, and sweat cooling on their bare flesh.

Her head is nestled in the crook of his shoulder and neck, and he has a protective hand curled around the curve of her hip.

“I could make it a national holiday so that we don’t have to go into work today” he says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Her body limp with pleasure, she just manages to roll her head to the side to look up at him skeptically, “And what prey tell would this holiday be?”

“... Mother’s day?” he asks sincerely.

She gave him an incredulous stare, “You are not serious, are you? There is already a mother’s day. It was 2 weeks ago in fact.”

“Oh yes right and what did I send my mother this year”

“Those maths journals that she had been wanting but would never buy for herself”

He nodded his head remembering said journals that his mother had spent hours talking his ear off about.

A comfortable silence once again descended upon them.

“... How about the day of rest?” He said idly as he wound a strand of her hair around his finger, feelings it silky texture slip through his fingers.  

“I’m afraid most major religions have already coined that moniker for a day of the week respectively” she retorted as her hand idly played with the hair on his chest.

“I’ve got it, I know why we can’t go into work today” he said with some excitement in his voice, as if it was the most brilliant idea he had come up with.

“Oh, so it’s we now is it?” she replied, her voice dripped with sarcasm.

He gave her an earnest nod, either ignoring or completely not noticing her sarcasm.

“We’ve been kidnapped”

“And prey tell by whom” she questions.

“By the Egyptians of course, about 1000 of them I would suspect”

Her brow frowned in confusion momentarily, when understanding dawned on her, and if she could move her arms she would have face palmed herself. Giving him a deadpan look, “You’re talking about your sheets, aren’t you?” she says dryly.

He just gives her a wide grin, and she cannot help but let out a soft laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Well” she says as she lets out a somewhat defeated sigh, “I guess there are worse ways to go”

Her body curls in towards his, molding against his side, the heat radiating from his body serving to break down what little was left of her resistance and desire for this to be a productive day.

Both drowsy with contentment curled up in each other arms; their peace was suddenly broken when the door to his room suddenly flung open.

Born out of constant vigilance and practiced ease, two loaded pistols were already trained on the open doorway before the door was even able to crash against the wall.

Eyes wide with shock and hands immediately going into the air in a sign suggesting he was unarmed, Sherlock’s wide eyes quickly took in the scene in front of him, before promptly slamming shut and turning his head away.

With eyes still closed, he did not need to see his brother or his PA in such a state of undress thank you very much, he addressed them tersely “How cliché dear brother, to start sleeping with your secretary”

“Ah but that is where you are wrong, it hasn’t just started, it just took you this long to figure it out, baby brother” Mycroft replied as both him and Anthea relaxed their hold on their guns and lowered them, tucking them back into their secure hiding spots once again, and bring the covers further up over their bodies.

“No! ... I ... just... I...” Sherlock stuttered out, all the frustrations of a younger brother being baited by his older brother coming out.

“Tut tut Brother mine, slipping are we. It seems that I am not the only one middle age is getting to” he cut in with a smug voice.

With a growl, Sherlock turned to leave, however was stopped by the sound of his brother’s voice once again, “Oh and Sherlock do shut the door on your way out, you’re letting in a chill”

With a loud crash, the door was firm slammed shut, and now the only sounds that could be hear was the snickering laughter of the pair inside the room.


	10. Old Married Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love could smack them in the face and they wouldn't even know it

It didn't matter that he was at his parent’s home far away from the demands and chaos that is London, and it didn't matter that it was the Christmas holidays and these were really the only few days of the year that he was forced to take a few days off, but there he was sitting in the kitchen of his childhood home,  tie neatly in place, trousers pressed and wrinkle free, and waistcoat smoothed over his frame; his only consolation was that his suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair. Later we would find him even more daringly relaxed with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, but not for some time yet.  
  
He was cradling the cup of tea that his father had pushed into his hands as soon as he had entered into the kitchen. The warmth of the cup cradled in his hands, serving to drive away the chill of the stone walls and cold tilted floors. What his parents saw in this ancient stone cottage of a house, without proper insulation or heated floors was beyond him, but, he guessed, with its festive decorations and light dusting of snow outside, it did make for a very picturesque postcard of the British countryside.

Stifling a yawn, he lets his head loll slightly to the side as he peers blearily into his cup of tea as if all of the world’s solutions could be found in the depths of his cup. As such, he thought he better drink it down fast, lest he be put out of a job.

Although his work usually had him up with the dawn, naturally Mycroft was not a morning person but after years of work demanding he become an early riser, he had conditioned himself to at least be somewhat coherent.

Taking a deep draw of the hot, steaming liquid, he let the slightly bitter liquid, run over his tongue and down his throat; he let out a soft little sigh as the brew began to further awaken his senses. Draining the cup he finally looked up and around the kitchen, finally awake enough to acknowledge the other occupant of the room. He blinked up owlishly at his father who had been watching him, sipping at his own cup, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Nodding his head to his father slightly, he bade the other man good morning, and the silence settled over the pair again as each man was lost to his own thoughts. Growing up the pair could often share quiet moments like these, both more of a quiet disposition that prided themselves watching; calculating; listening.

There were many a mornings when father and his eldest son would sit quietly at that very same table sipping their morning brew, while Sherlock had tore through the house with the strength of a tornado, and usually with the same amount of destruction as a tornado in his wake. Meanwhile, Violet Holmes would be constantly bustling around the kitchen and they had to clutch tightly to their cups, lest they be swept up in her almost frantic need to have/create order.

Breaking the silence, Siger Holmes came to sit in the empty chair beside his son.

“Your brother and his ... flatmate are coming in tomorrow”

Mycroft let out a slight groan, Christmas with Sherlock was, at best trying, and at worst a complete disaster in which a few times ended with Mummy threatening a sound thrashing just like when they were children.

“I get three days a year, three days; it’s always a disaster when he is here. I swear ... why do we still do this; why do we constantly think it will be different each year, when we know it won’t be, Sherlock will always be Sherlock.” Mycroft complained to his father, his voice the closest to a whine as he would allow himself.

Siger could only roll his eyes at his son, it was the same thing every year, in fact if Mycroft didn’t made some comment about his brother’s ... trying presence he would be worried.

“Speaking of, where is that delightful woman of yours; what name is she going by this time?” Siger ask his son, his eyebrow arched in question. He would never understand why she always chose to change her name on a ongoing basis, she had a very lovely name, but if it worked for her/them, who was he to question it. Besides he had had the past 5 years to get use to the constant changing moniker; when Mycroft had first brought her home with him for Christmas, Violet had been ecstatic, thinking her son was finally settling down. However when neither showed signs of settling down or a serious relationship with one another, it was quite puzzling, and after the third year both parents just accepted that wherever Mycroft was, Anthea was not far behind.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his father, every year it was the same thing, couldn’t his family just accept that him and Anthea were just ... friends.

“For the last time Papa, she is not my anything, she is just my ... er ... Anthea” Mycroft said, stumbling over the last bit, a blush rising to his cheeks. Even to his own ears, that sounded pathetic. But really she was his Anthea; she was more than an employee and more than just a friend, but not in the way that his parents thought, at least he didn’t think so... right?

So he brought her home with him whenever he went, it was only because he couldn’t bear being alone with his family for any extended periods of time.

And so what if they lived together, it was just practical really. And besides that was all on her anyways; ever since that time she got kidnapped, living together just made sense so that he was able to know that she was okay at all time, and besides they both worked such late hours and many times from his home, so it just made sense that they make it her home too.

And the sleeping arrangements, that too was for practical reasons; if she did not get enough sleep, well some people thought that he was scary, but they obviously had not met a sleep deprived Anthea, as well, if he didn’t get at least a few hours of sleep, who knows what state the country would be in. So sharing a bed made sense; they both had nightmares not that either would admit it, and somehow the presence of the other at night kept the nightmares at bay, so if sharing a bed afforded them the precious little sleep they got, what was the harm.

And well the sex, it really only happened on occasion... who was he kidding it happened more than just on occasion but it was just sex, entirely physical; just a way to let off some steam; to curb the tension between them before it could really start to form. And the cuddling and slow, soft kisses, it was purely platonic, just two good friends who had a mutual want for contact and closeness. And besides, they have known each other for so long that they were more than comfortable with each other.

The wedding bands were strictly for professional purposes, if people thought that they were each married, there would be less being hit on or set up by their well meaning colleagues. The fact that they were matching, that was just a coincidence; over the many years of working together, their individual tastes had just kind of morphed into a shared, similar taste. And of course  the rings were practical too, they had tracking devices built in just in case one of them ever went missing.

“And if you must know, she is still sleeping, it’s only 7 o’clock, and if I even attempt to wake her before she deems strictly necessary, especially when on holiday, she would decapitate me” Mycroft continued absently, lost in his thoughts, his doubt about his relationship or thought of lack there of occupying his mind.

Siger could only nod his head in sympathy with his son; his wife being the same way.

The silence was regained in the small kitchen both having refreshed their cup of tea, Siger ideally, calmly flipping through the sports section of the paper, while his son sat beside him, paper slightly crinkled in his white knuckled grip, his heart beat elevated, as thoughts of his not relationship with Anthea flew through his mind, the paper having long since been forgotten.   

It is some time later (after he rationalized over and over the practicality his relationship with Anthea), after the slight panic had worn off and his heart beat had returned to normal, and all thoughts of relationships had left his mind, where he had finally gotten him mind back onto autopilot where he was able to read the paper, calculate the numerous ways in which Sherlock could ruin Christmas once again, and decide which terrorist cell needed to be dealt with first, when he heard her distinct footsteps padding down the hall towards the kitchen.

She breezes into the kitchen with a bright smile on her face and a cheerful murmured of good morning; her hair swept up into a pony tail, her face sans makeup, and her casual outfit of yoga pants and knitted sweater fitting snug to her body, outlining and accentuating her curves.

Instinctively his tilts his face up towards hers as she rounds the table to his side, and accepts the quick peck to his lips as she bends over his shoulder and reaches around him to pick up his cup and finishes the last dregs of his tea before replacing the empty cup in front of him.

With a lingering hand on his shoulder, she scoops up a muffin from the basket in the middle of the table and disappears into the next room.

His father arches a smug eyebrow up at him with a pointed look and a slight tilt of his head, as if to say “not in a relationship, yeah right”.

Mycroft rolls his eyes in exasperation and is about to open his mouth to retort to his father’s silent challenge when his mother comes waltzing into the room in almost the same fashion as Anthea had done. A quick squeeze to his shoulder as a good morning greeting before moving over towards his father, dropping a light kiss on his waiting lips, before reaching around to finish the remains of his tea as well.

As he watches the exchange between his parents, his eyes start to grow rather large, and he cannot help the rapid blinking as he processes what he had just seen. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he was able to mutter a hasty good morning and will you excuse me to his mother and father as he all but scrambles out of the room.

He could hear his father’s stifled chuckle as the door swung closed behind him, and his mother’s curious voice asking what was so funny.

Anthea was sat in front of the fireplace, a throw across her lap as she flipped through the pages of the book she was reading the previous day.

He skidded to a stop in front of her, and peered at her with narrowed eyes and a curious quirk to his lips. Tilting his head he regarded her further, his eyes scanning her head to toe as if trying to see if something was different about her. All she could do was peer back up at from with a slightly startled and curious look on her face.

He ran a hand through his hair before starting to pace in front of her, pausing every now and then to look her over again. Her eyes followed him as he paced, and after about the 5th time, she reached out a hand to grab at his arm in an effort to halt him.

“You are going to make me sick if you keep up with the pacing. What’s wrong?” she said with some concern.

He was silent for a moment; she was just about to open her mouth to ask him again when at long last he spoke.

“We’re my parents!” he said with a scandalized look on his face.

She just blinked up at him, not quite following his train of thought.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

He dropped down onto the seat besides her and let out a long breath before turning his head towards her to face her.

“Have we been in a ... relationship (his said the word with some distaste, his nose crinkled up as if he had just sucked on a lemon) and I just hadn’t noticed. Are we an old married couple?” he asks, his eyes large and bewildered.

 _For geniuses, these Holmes men can be quite slow_ she thought with some amusement. Taking her time, she closed the book and placed it onto the table beside the sofa. Folding her hands up and placing them into her lap, she looked down as if collecting her thoughts. Raising her eyes to meet his, and turning her body fully towards his, she regarded him with a solemn, serious look in her eyes.

“That is just preposterous” she started, her voice serious, almost grave, “For one thing, I don’t know about you, but speaking for myself, I’m not old” she finally said as she dissolved into laughter as she saw his face morph from bewildered concern to incredulous to amused exasperation to acceptance.

As he heard the laughter float in from the next room over, Siger Holmes could only shake his head with a small smile playing on his lips. _Sometimes those boys were just so much like their mother... love could slap them in the face, or in this case been living with them for the past many years, and they wouldn’t know it. Oh well, his sons were smart, they would all, hopefully, find their way in the end. One down, one to go._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working late

The hour had already grown late, it was even now bordering on ridiculously late; so much so he had already discarded his suite jacket, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt and left his tie hanging loosely around his neck, because who, beside him would still be in the office at this god forsaken hour. 

Getting up from his chair, he straightens out his back that had been hunched over his computer keyboard, only to hear the creak and crack of his bones and joints. After taking a moment to roll his neck from side to side, he let out a deep sigh before collecting up the documents he had just finished going over, to be deposited onto Anthea's desk for her to file away when she arrived first thing in the morning. 

Opening his inner office door that led out to hers, he was slightly startled to see her form at her desk, illuminated by the white glow of her computer screen, having thought that even this hour of night was too late for her to still be here.

He quickly regained his composure, straightened his tie, and softly cleared his throat to gain her attention, without startling her too badly. Not that it helped as he silently calculated the speed at which her head whipped around in his direction, eyes wide and slightly wild with her lack of sleep. 

"Oh my god sir! You frightened me" she said as she felt her heart rate slowly climb back down to normal when she realized it was only him. 

"I pray, what are you still doing here my dear" he questioned her as his eyes swept down her form, and took note of her slight reddened nose and flush of her cheeks. 

"Oh I was just catching back up with the work that I missed while I was sick" she told him, followed by a cough and sniffle that unudercut her silent claim of being well once more. 

"My dear, it is 3 o'clock in the morning, you should head home, the work will still be here tomorrow, you need your rest."

She frowned her brows at him as she saw him take up more files from the basket on her desk that was for is attention, 'Forgive me sir, but even though I have been away, I still know that you have barely went home in the past 2 days, and the actual amount of sleep that you have gotten is far from healthy" she said with a slight admonishing edge to her voice. 

"I don't pay you to be concerned with my well being" he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Somehow I don't think you are paid to concern yourself with mine either sir," she countered.

"You're my assistant," he replied matter of fact, as if that should explain everything.

"And my well being is so much more important than yours?" she questioned rhetorically, with a roll of her eyes. 

His head titled towards the side slightly as he regarded her thoughtfully, his eyes solum and gaze unwavering, no matter how tired he felt.

"Yes" he replied simply, his voice soft and pitched low, before turning on his heel to reenter his office. 

She sat there frozen, staring at the spot that he had just stood, trying to digest and understand the meaning behind his simple 'yes', until she was startled out of her musing by the "goodnight" and "go home my dear" that drifted through the open doorway between them.


	12. Always

If it wasn’t for the dangerous situation she had found herself in, she would have laughed; it was just all so cliché, as if straight out of an old Bond movie.

The freight train thundered along the tracks; the box car that she was in was empty save for a few crates stacked at the other end of the car; dusty rays of light beamed through the cracks and crevices of the old wooden car, and two men in non discriminate black outfits seated on either side of her; large guns propped up against their sides. 

Her wrists were currently bound; tightly encircled by a stiff plastic zip-tie cutting into her slender wrists. With one more glance around the box car, she gave a silent sigh of resignation; what was supposed to be a routine reconnaissance mission had somehow gone spectacularly not good, and it would seem that she was on her way towards a date with certain death.

She still had 2 days until her next check in; she would be dead before anyone would ever know that something was missing.

Tears stung at her eyes but she would not let them fall in the face of her captors. She wished that he was here, if only to tell him one last time that she loved him.

The train barreled forward, taking her closer and closer to her executioner and further from him. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift, getting lost in her memories; their memories, as the roar of the train over tracks threatened to drown her in despair into nothingness.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The low light glistened off of the stem and silver wear; it bounced off of the crystal chandeliers, and bathed the room in soft glittering gold. The music had long ago stopped, the band paid and sent on their way; the guests safely tucked away in the homes, except for two lone figures swaying slowly, softly to the music that only they could hear.

Even if no one knew, she would always save the last dance for him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

All of a sudden there is a loud thump from above that jars her out of her revere; her captors startling to their feet, guns instinctively rise to the roof as they shot each other a glance and silent nod, moving towards the edges of the cart.

On cue they let loose a barrage of bullets, creating a new sun roof in the previously darkened train cart. Suddenly, without warning there was a loud blast and blinding flash of light, and it was all she could to stay sitting upright; her ears ringing and her vision exploding with bright stars.

Distantly she registered that the roar of the automatic weapons had stopped, only to be replaced by the dull thud of bodies falling to the ground.

She shook her head as her vision began to clear, just in time to make out an impeccably dressed form crouch low to sweep the feet from right out under his assailant, only to deliver two muted bullets into the man even before he hit the ground.

He swept his eyes from one end of the cart to the other reassessing the situation, making sure that any imminent threat had been taken care of, before his steely eyes settled on her, taking in every detail; every scrape and bruise, and mentally adding more names to his kill list.

With a rage as hot as fire burning in his eyes, he needed to take a few calming breaths. Holstering his gun at his back, he swiftly moved towards her dishevelled form, brandishing a knife, he snapped the stiff plastic tie on its sharp edge. Moving around, he crouched down low in front of her, calmly pushing his hands through her hair, smoothing it back and away from her face so he could see her eyes.

Steely blues met bright with ushered teary browns, but the relief that flashed through both was palpable.

“I will always come for you” he said with a tender smile as his fingers brushed against her cheek, and then with a wink and a crooked smile, he intertwined their hands together and gave her hand a tug, “Now run my silly girl” he said amusement and affection colouring his voice.

And together, with shorts ringing in their ears, his hand tightly clutched in hers, even if they died today, he would always come for her, nothing, not even the threat death would change that. 


End file.
